Breathe
by Feralious
Summary: SPOILERS! He silently cursed himself at the thoughts going through his head as he was trying to prevent his best friend from dying. Never had he thought their lips would meet in this way. -What should've happened in AGoS. Light slash, Holmes/Watson


**So this is my first published venture in the Sherlock Holmes fandom! I haven't read the books but I fell in love with RDJ and Jude Law's characters. So much chemistry and subtext in the movies... though as I was watching A Game of Shadows I felt like there could've been some more. ;) Me and my friend were walking out of the theater and first thing she says is "He so should've given him mouth-to-mouth in that train!" And that's exactly what I had been thinking during that scene. xD**

**I have a few more ideas of things that could've (should've) happened (even if I don't remember the scenes all that well) so this will become a collection of one shots.  
><strong>

**Hope you enjoy the story. :)**

**Edit 12/25/2011: I finally got my hands on the recording of this movie so I could make this scene as accurate as possible. Apparently my memory is so terrible I I had to rewrite quite a bit, it's definitely longer now as well. I also did some more research on resuscitation to try and make this as historically correct as I could. :) Again, thank you Dayja for your comment on this matter.**

* * *

><p>"I know you can hear me, you selfish bastard!"<p>

One, _push. _One, _push. _

_Come on Holmes, don't you bloody die on me! _

One, _push._

He still wasn't moving.

Trying his best to fight the panic that overcame him he bent down, putting his cheek to his mouth. Not even a ghost of breath.

Holmes wasn't breathing.

Holmes was going to die.

_Perhaps he already did…_

"NO!"

His hands were getting sweaty from the quick, vigorous movements, but the adrenaline surged through his system, allowing him to keep going.

One, _push. _One, _push._

Trying to make him exhale wasn't helping. What could he do?

Was there _anything _he could do?

_Yes._

Yes there was.

Without giving it a second thought he reached forward, grabbing Holmes' rough face with his strong hands. Pinching his nose with his thumb and index finger he placed his mouth over his and started to provide him with the necessary oxygen.

He silently cursed himself at the thoughts going through his head as he was trying to prevent his best friend from dying.

Never had he thought their lips would meet in this way.

Getting more and more alarmed by the lack of response he pulled back, applying pressure to his chest once more, and again, and again. In utter fear and anger he slammed his fists down on his still form, tears forming in his eyes.

The gypsy threw herself at him, blocking his way and restraining his movements. He let her. His body kept urging for him to throw her aside and help his friend, but he knew there was nothing he could do.

She slowly released him as he appeared to have stopped struggling. He could only stare at his face, his eyes closed, looking like he'd finally found his peace.

It wasn't possible.

They'd fought, they'd survived. Never had they experienced an adventure as dangerous as this, but they'd pulled through.

Just mere minutes ago, they were alive.

Both of them.

Holmes simply couldn't be dead. He was too brilliant, he would've found a way to live –

_Oh god…_

His eyes widened with realization as it hit him. A waterfall of hope poured inside his chest, but simultaneously he was scared. So scared that what he just realized might not work.

_It's the perfect wedding gift._

His trembling fingers fumbled in his bag and he retrieved the small syringe that he had given him earlier.

He hadn't even really been on his honeymoon yet, but right now there was nothing that he wished for more.

He thought he could never wish for anything more in his entire life.

_Holmes, please. Please don't leave me._

Then he jammed the syringe in his chest.

First, nothing. Time passed as he sat there, silent, quivering. Seconds seemed to stretch out for eternity, but it might even have been less than one.

And then he gasped for breath.

_Breath. He was breathing._

His eyes flew open and his body jerked upwards as he started shouting. Without so much as a warning he got up on his feet and stumbled to the other end of the compartment, turning around and raving about something that sounded like complete nonsense.

"Terrible dream!"

_He has no idea of the nightmare he's put me through._

There was no way to describe the feeling that washed over him at that moment. They'd had so many brushes with death, but never had he doubted that they would live.

That _he_ would live.

But this time he hadn't.

If only for a few seconds, Holmes had been dead. Dead, gone from this world, gone from _him. _And if it hadn't been for his own brilliant invention, he would never have returned.

He regained focus again as he walked towards him and grabbed his wrist. His breathing had slowed down a little and he still seemed dazed, but his intense eyes were focused on his.

Somewhere far away he registered that the other gypsies were still with them in the train compartment, but he couldn't pay attention to them if he wanted to.

All that mattered was the man standing in front of him.

It had always been this way, but today more than ever.

He knew marrying Mary and moving out would cause some changes between them, cause them to drift apart.

But they'd keep coming back.

He'd never accepted his invitation to this dangerous journey if he hadn't wanted to. Part of him missed the adventure.

Another, much larger part missed _him._

And he hadn't even really been gone yet.

Holmes instantly moved a hand to his chest. Watson felt a small chuckle appear on his face as he realized that his efforts to bring him back to life would surely be met with complaining. This was Holmes.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Who's been dancing on my chest!" A loud, indignant voice that he knew all too well made his heart leap with joy.

Holmes looked up to find blue eyes on his own. Even someone not as brilliant at deduction as the detective would've been able to notice the immense relief and gratefulness apparent on his face.

He was talking like the Holmes he knew, moving his hurt limbs with relative ease and making pained grimaces. No brain functions seemed to be impaired. He was going to make a full recovery.

He was fine. He _lived._

Watson walked around him in search of his bag. "Me," he replied, his tone slightly sarcastic at his accusation.

"Why is my ankle so itchy?"

At least he knew how to solve this one without the chance of his friend dying.

"Because you have large piece of wood sticking out of it."

He placed his hand on his uninjured shoulder and pushed him down so he could take care of it.

"Sit down. Drink this." He handed him an anesthetic, for once providing Holmes with a reason to drink, and set about to remove the giant splinter.

"Did you call me a selfish bastard?" Why, he seemed insulted.

"Probably."

He didn't even look up at the finger that was pointing rather annoyingly in his face. Had Holmes heard him? He must have, for his perfect recalling of his outburst held an accusatory tone.

But how?

He'd been unconscious. He hadn't been breathing –

Yet he'd heard him. Apparently he'd ended up in some state between life and death, as had been the case with Blackwood – he'd been fooled once before.

He suddenly wondered how much Holmes had perceived of his surroundings. Had he passed out after that comment? Had he felt his forceful efforts to get his lungs to start inhaling again?

_Had he felt my lips on his?_

Holmes had turned his gaze away from him and he did the same, suddenly a little embarrassed. He was actually more embarrassed about the fact that he _was_ embarrassed than because he'd pressed his mouth to his. As a doctor he'd had no other intentions than to get him to start breathing again, yet it still left him with some confused feelings.

He just got married and it was simply not possible for two men to be together, not to mention that Holmes surely didn't feel the same way about him. But it didn't prevent him from thinking that he'd craved for so long to feel the touch of his lips on his own – and now he'd gotten to experience it, but not in the way he'd ever imagined.

Not in the way he'd ever wanted it to happen.

He'd rather have never touched Holmes' lips if it meant that he never would know the fear of losing him.

And now that he knew what they felt like, he wanted more.

He'd always wanted more, but in the past year – since he'd gotten engaged to Mary – he'd more or less come to terms with the idea that they would each be going their own way. He would marry her, have children with her, and come home to his loving wife every day after work.

Being this intimate with Holmes brought all those feelings back flaring in his chest again.

And it hadn't even been a kiss.

For god's sake, he'd placed his mouth on his to prevent his best friend from dying. He shouldn't –

Holmes' voice brought him back to reality. He shook his head as he listened to his complaining.

His right hand took a hold of the fragment and under Holmes' "Just leave it in! Leave it in –" he swiftly but decidedly removed the giant splinter, holding it up in front of him. As Holmes went on to mutter and grumble he pulled off his boot.

He winced as he applied some alcohol to disinfect the wound.

"I thought you liked alcohol," he said nonchalantly as he frowned and rummaged in his medical supplies.

Holmes merely huffed and looked the other way. He stayed silent as Watson retrieved his necessary equipment and quickly proceeded to suture up the small wound.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to Brighton."

This got his attention. Apologies from Holmes were rare. Non-existent, he'd even thought.

He turned to look at him as he finished the procedure. Holmes had his head slightly cocked to the side, a thoughtful look on his face, but he didn't seem to be insincere.

It didn't mean he'd let him off easy. He did ruin his honeymoon, even if his recent days with Holmes had made him painfully regret his decision to get married even more. Perhaps this was what brought along his answer. Had he been in Brighton right now with his newlywed wife he would not have to experience those crushing feelings coursing through his body.

"Me too."

His intense stare – even if pain was still apparent in his eyes – made it clear that he saw right through him, but Watson didn't care. He set down his needle and gazed at the floor for a few seconds.

The past few days had been near perfect, had it not been for Holmes' injuries and ultimately his death scare. But now it was really time to start his new life. Spending even more time with him might result in him leaving Mary. He couldn't do that to the poor woman. And perhaps leaving Holmes was for his own good.

"I think we should go home."

Holmes immediately replied. "I concur."

Holmes agreeing with him surprised him almost as much as his earlier apology. Again he found himself staring at him, almost not believing what he said.

"We're going home." He then closed his eyes, suddenly looking exhausted by all previous events.

He knew that by home he meant Baker Street 221B. A place he'd called his home for so long now, but not anymore. His stuff had already been transferred to his new house. The one he would share with his wife.

But really, any place would feel like home, as long as he was with Holmes. Sitting right next to him his heart was already aching with loss.

It strangely fluttered when Holmes told him they'd visit Switzerland first.

_A few more days. A few more days, and then we're done._

Holmes seemed to have drifted off to sleep. Leaning against the wall he watched him, making sure his breathing stayed even.

Within seconds a rather large obstacle on the road caused the train to shake violently, earning a small groan of pain from the man.

"Holmes?"

He opened his eyes immediately.

"What?"

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Never been better."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Watson needed to make sure that he was actually telling the truth for a change. He didn't think the image of Holmes lying still with his eyes closed would leave his mind anytime soon.

"You're not experiencing any dizziness? A headache? Some numbness?"

"Watson, you don't have to be concerned about me. It's not like I'm about to die."

He fell silent. Holmes noticed his change in expression, because he quickly continued.

"Not anymore, at least."

"You stopped breathing."

"Did I."

"Yes."

"Oh. "

Another short pause.

"I think I've been a little out of it."

Watson got slightly frustrated with the man. "Holmes, you practically _died._ That pain in your chest – I tried to get you to start breathing again, but it wouldn't help –"

Holmes instinctively reached up to his chest for the second time today, Watson's eyes following his movement.

"Yes, I can feel that."

Like a hawk, his gaze was pinning him down once more.

"I also felt… something _else_."

He felt his cheeks heat a little under the piercing gaze of the detective, or perhaps it was just the anger that had been building up inside him earlier. Either way, he felt a bit uncomfortable. He hadn't expected him to revisit this subject after minutes had passed without it being addressed, and frankly he'd been quite grateful for that. It didn't seem like Holmes was willing to let it go though.

_When did he ever._

He waited for him to speak again, which he did.

"Thank you."

He blinked. "For what?"

"What do you think, my dear Watson? For saving my life of course. You've performed some excellent reanimation techniques, though I'm glad that in the end you realized that I'd handed you the key some time ago."

The plural of 'technique' didn't go unnoticed by him and he was sure that Holmes meant exactly what he thought he meant, he was far too brilliant to not have his reasons for saying what he did. The smirk on his face confirmed this. Did he choose not to bring it up? But of course, why would he. It had been just that – an attempt to save his life.

"You know, it would've been much easier if you'd just told me what the syringe was for. A wedding gift, for god's sake. What if I wouldn't have found out in time?"

"Well, I suppose I'd be left with permanent brain damage from the lack of oxygen, severely incapacitating my deduction skills or other, less important ones. Or, I'd now be dead, obviously."

He fell silent for a few moments, but Watson knew he wasn't done talking yet. When he spoke up again, he did so in a slightly more serious tone of voice.

"I knew you'd figure it out. I would've failed as your mentor if I taught you any less, in which case I wouldn't deserve any better."

Incredulous he looked at him. "You gambled with your life just because you –"

"Because I put my trust in you. I trust you with my life, Watson. I hope you know that."

They went silent for a few seconds, gazing at each other as the train shook and creaked as it continued on the bumpy rails.

"I know. And I trust you with mine."

A smile – or was it a smirk? – appeared on Holmes' face at his answer.

"Good. Because if you ever die, I'd be happy to kiss you back to life."

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews make my day so if you could take the time to tell me what you think it's much appreciated! :) Hope to see you back again for the next scenes! (If there's any scenes you'd like to see in particular, feel free to ask me through message or review. Chances are I'm already working on it (I've got quite a few ideas for future chapters) but you never know.<br>**


End file.
